“Of course he would never have signed such a thing!” said Hamilton Bright, with emphasis. “He had too much sense.”
“I should think so!” exclaimed Mrs. Lauderdale. “The only thing I can’t understand is how it ever was kept and marked ‘Will.’ ”
“Uncle Robert once told me that he had often made sketches of wills leaving all his money in trust to the poor,” said Katharine. “He never meant to sign one, though. This must be one of them—of course—it can’t be anything else!”
“His secretary probably put it away, supposing he wanted to keep it,” said Ralston, from behind Mr. Allen. “Then he forgot all about it, and so it turned up among the papers. It’s simple enough.”
“Oh, quite simple!” assented Alexander Junior, with a half-hysterical laugh.
Mrs. Ralston was watching the lawyer as he felt for his glasses on the carpet. He paused, wiped his brow—for it was a warm afternoon, and he had been nervously excited himself in reading the document. Then he continued his search.
“There’s a bit of paper there on the floor, beside your hand,” said Mrs. Ralston. “I saw it drop when you opened the envelope. Perhaps it’s something more important.”
Mr. Allen recovered his glasses at that moment, and with the other hand took up the little folded sheet. With the utmost care and precision he went through the same preparations for reading which had been indispensable on the first occasion.
“Let us see, let us see,” he said. “This is something. ‘I hereby certify,’—oh, an old marriage certificate of yours, Mrs. Ralston. John Ralston and Katharine Lauderdale—married—dear me! I don’t understand! This year, too! This is very strange.”
Again every one present started, but with very different expressions. Hamilton Bright grew slowly red. There was a short pause. Then John Ralston rose to his feet and bent over Mr. Allen’s shoulder.